


Black Tie Affair #6

by somekindofseizure



Series: Black Tie Affair [6]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, Car Sex, F/M, bond, sexy spies, spy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 01:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8081587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: Mulder and Scully's international intrigue continues...





	

Mulder had his elbow hooked over the bar, all black and white ninety-degree angles, a tall string of photographic negatives.  He shifted a knee and clenched his jaw as he took in the room.  An affectation, Scully thought, but one good enough to send a flutter through her stomach as she waited for him to look up.  The room smelled of flowers and alcohol, oily wood floor polish used to clean before dinner hour.  The orange warmth and blue dazzle of the Riviera hung in the air imperceptibly, as if everyone in the room had reached a tacit agreement not to wash the beach out of their hair this once.

Her descent of the ballroom stairs was a slow one, her speed hindered by the drape of an unhemmed dress against the steps.  She tried not to let it unnerve her, this sound of silk crepe brushing against rich carpet as if to shape it into a ponytail.  A black dress – simple, but not little – straps tenuous on the planes of her shoulders, cut low everywhere it mattered. Air-conditioning hit her bare back like a door pushed open into a January afternoon.

People began to look and she considered pinching the gown between her fingers Cinderella-style so she could walk faster, but the high slit on her right leg warned otherwise.  She tried to do as her new profession asked; appraise the room with the confidence of a sexy spy, thriving on their gazes, imbuing them with worship or jealousy, drawing power on the juicy wetness of their pupils.  He looked up and stared as she swaggered down the steps, a willing player in the scene she’d just made up.  She froze momentarily, ball of her foot dangling for a moment before sinking down to the next step.

His expression was as thick and unreadable as it always was, his admiration, if at all existent, buried in three-foot banks of self-protection.  He tapped his wristwatch as if to disarm her of any romantic notions of a compliment coming her way.

“You’re late,” he whispered, handing her a glass of champagne.  She felt a wave of relief.  She’d had so many cocktails on this job that a glass of bubbly seemed as pure as water.

“Maybe if you hadn’t spent an hour in the bathroom gelling your hair, I could’ve moved more quickly.”

He self-consciously petted the neat side-part of his hair, its floppiness gelled into a slick almost-black that Scully had to admit she found very handsome.

“The crunch is audible,” she said, quieting a pang of jealousy as she studied the other couples in the room.  They were settling at their dinner plates, shuffling lazily around the dance floor as the small string quartet played something romantic and vacant, a trickling tune that left space for their passion.  For these people, this evening was real.  It was actually love, or maybe just sex, but even then it was not a game.  

“Are they here yet?” she asked.

“Not that I can tell. Might as well…”

He finished his sentence by leading her to the dance floor, her small unmanicured hand wiggling nervously in his.  He posed her with a proud look in his eye, and his forearm rested lazily on her back.  She obliged, her feet spliced between his as they moved to the music.  The strings hummed the tune of “La Vie en Rose.”  

“Do you think they play any other songs here?” he asked.

“Doubtful.”

“You look beautiful.”  It was abrupt and unlayered.  Bond, not Mulder.  Fine.

“How beautiful?”

“So beautiful I don’t want to have to wait until we don’t catch our bad guys to jump your bones.”

She smiled and dutifully fanned her eyelids at him.  He pulled her a little closer and she felt the crisp white ruffle of his tux against the tops of her breasts.  She had dusted them with highlighter powder, and her eyes darted as she wondered if it would rub off on his clothes.

“So beautiful I could fall in love with you,” he said, parting the hair around her ear with his lips. She held her breath, trying to remind herself that this was part of the show.  Who they were putting it on for, she was becoming unsure.

“Dangerous to fall in love with people you work with.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Sweet Bond, smooth Bond, the Bond who worked for it a little. Not because he had to but because it was fun.  She thought of the Bond girls who captured Bond’s heart for however brief a period - they were always doomed.

There was a hiccup as the song ended, pages shuffled on music stands, reeds sucked and wrists rolled, and then they began to play a tango.  It was a familiar one, theatrical, notes plaintive and sly.  Mulder snapped to attention, pressing Scully firmly into ballroom stance. He held her eyes as he led, grinned when she didn’t falter.  She lifted her chin and dropped her shoulders back a little further, sway in her back cradling his hand.

She had dabbled a little in ballroom dance as a teenager.  She’d been awkward and skittishly romantic, drawn to things outside the normal realm of teenagedom – pottery, fencing, nuance in olive oils.  Things she had not yet admitted to herself would never matter.

“Youtube?” she asked.

“Ballroom for Spies,” he stage-whispered back, clicking his heels against the floor.

“I’m impressed,” she said.

“As am I,” he said, pressing his hip into her body so as to turn her.

“I can see that,” she said, licking her chops as she felt the hint of his hard-on.  She remembered practicing with those boys, the way she’d hunt and wait for it, wondrous and suddenly powerful.

But as this very tall, very grown-up boy marched her around the room, swooping and blinking, she could feel something inside her shifting, something that made her feel slightly frantic even in the safe hold of his arms.  The emotion of the music wove its way into her dress, its horsehair bow stroking her ribs.  Stop that, she thought, there is no room in this dress for emotions.  Or bows for that matter.

The fake diamonds on her wrist jangled and her feet stumbled.  She’d become distracted by the heavy float of Mulder’s dark eyelashes, angled seemingly on her mouth as he guided her around the floor.  The look in his pupils was focused and distant, calling to mind steps as he normally did historical facts.  But then he was there again, nostrils flared and the edge of his mouth curling up.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said.  The song was approaching its end.

“Why, afraid you’ll fall out the top of your dress?”  

She lowered her voice a notch.

“I’m afraid the switchblade I have tucked into the top of my dress will spill out and cut my throat.”

“You won’t need that,” he said and dipped her anyway, placing his hand on her collarbone and then dipping it quickly into her cleavage until he was able to retrieve the knife from the fold in her dress.  He slid it up his sleeve, a sleight of hand, an illusion like everything else.  

“That’s my weapon,” she said.  “I couldn’t fit a gun under this dress, the slit was too high.”

“I made up their dinner reservations.  I wanted you to have a night off,” he said and his sincerity deepened a crease between her eyebrows.  She closed her eyes to the lights as she stared up at the ceiling, losing herself in the feel of his lips on her neck.  When he swung her back up, the room spun as her heels reabsorbed the weight of her body. If there were no bad guys, then she was on a date with Mulder.

“They’re not coming?” she asked, panic building.

“Well…”

Scully felt the unmistakable shape of a gun against her back.

“Are you stupid or stupid?” asked a heavily-accented male voice.  

“Pretty sure those two words are the same,” Mulder said and then gave Scully a squeeze around the waist. Was it a cue or a reflexive instinct? They had to fucking work out their signals if they were to keep doing this. In case she had any doubts, the bad guy’s companion from the beach this morning appeared over Mulder’s shoulder. Scully wondered if she had a gun too - which meant two instead of one - but Scully knew a little something about hiding guns in these ensembles. Somehow, these types of bad guys always maintained their manners.  One gun.

“You sign into a hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Bond?  This is so stupid, we cannot believe it.”  The woman sneered at Scully.  Scully glared at Mulder and he shrugged sheepishly.  

“May I have a dance with your partner?” the man asked, putting his unarmed hand on Scully’s hip.  Multi-tasking, she thought bitterly.

“Sure,” Mulder said, but no sooner had the man tugged her away than she saw blood trickle down her shoulder.  The man pulled his hand away, gasping and squeezing it, cursing under his breath in French.  They took off at once, minds moving as one, riding the same secondhand.  They parsed crowds in the ballroom, drunk people in the lobby, made it to the driveway where a valet shuffled cars, as if according to their beauty.  Mulder hopped into a vintage Porsche with a valet key still in the ignition and Scully buckled into the passenger side.

“We’ll return it,” he assured her as they peeled away from the resort.

“If they don’t kill us first.”  She glanced over her shoulder as they made their way down the narrow road leading out of town.   There was a lime green car on their tail moving at comet-like speed.  “They’re on us already.  Faster.”

Mulder hit the gas and she saw his knuckles whiten as he re-gripped the steering wheel.  The road began to windup  around a mountain, navy blue waters inviting them over the edge as they reached dizzying heights.

“Glad this isn’t a Ford Taurus,” he said and she bit her lip so hard it bled.  Blood, she thought, remembering the moment Mulder cut her attacker. She looked for something to wipe her skin, checking the glove compartment and feeling what she thought was a towel. Mulder laughed as she held up a pair of red panties.

“Oh, come on.”  

“Don’t look at me.  Just that kind of a car.”  Behind them, their friends reeled and sped.  The woman leaned over the side, aiming a gun at them and began to fire.  There was no way for her to get a shot on these roads at this speed.  It was a move of intent:  we will kill you. 

“Hang on,” Mulder said, taking a very sharp turn and then pulling into a gravel lot on the interior side of the road with a hard pull of the clutch.  The green car followed and its brakes squealed as the tires strained for purchase, but it was no use.  Scully felt her jaw drop open as the green car flew off the side of the cliff into the Mediterranean Sea.  The plunk-splash sent a chill up her spine.

Mulder looked at her, bracing himself for her potential outrage, breath coming hard.  “Those were some very bad people,” he said.

“Bad enough to send off a cliff?”  

“Without a doubt.”  He gulped.

She nodded and sat back, body so alive her skin tingled.  Adrenaline pulsed in her veins, the tang of champagne and blood fizzling on her tongue. It felt like an ending.  She reached for his face and pulled his mouth to her, kissing him hard, feeling his eyelashes flutter against the bridge of her nose as his tongue searched for the back of her throat.  

For a moment, she imagined it was a Ford Taurus, that this was them, in some dusty nowhere town chasing aliens rather than in the beautiful south of France chasing international gangsters.  His hand slid up the slit of her dress, pushing it into the sweet oblivion around her hips.  She was already wet, and in this mindset, the one of Dana Scully in a rental car, she was shy about it. She pushed his chest away and he studied her, his eyes so grey they nearly matched the moon.

“We got them,” he said. “It might be the last job.”

“They might give us another one.”

“I want it to feel real,” he said.

“It can’t,” she said, moving her hand over his dick to fight the sting of regret. “But I can make you feel something else.”  He was hard and patient beneath his pants, rising to the tone in her voice as she unzipped.  She bent and he swore a whispery string of epithets as she wrapped her tongue around him.

She rose and fell and his fingers twitched anxiously in her hair, as if he were worried she might slip through them.  He groaned when her breasts spilled from her dress into his lap.  She squeezed his thigh and licked, sure that she had him, and then nearly jumped as he cupped her ass, scooping her forward.  He tore the dress up from under her and she leaned on her hip to give him access, tightening the press of her lips, stubbornly milking him slow and tight as he distracted her with a strum of his fingertips.  When two of them entered her body, she moaned and his cock vibrated on her tongue.

“Fuck,” he said sharply as he came and she nudged herself, swollen and wanton at his wrist.  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she rolled onto her back, arching over the dip of the console.  She put her heels up on the door and mercilessly re-positioned his hand between her legs, tugging her dress down so that the straps dug into her biceps.  This way, she could feel the sleeve of his jacket brush her nipples. He sighed and stroked her skin with his free hand as she began to pulse and bear down on his hand.  She was close.

“Just watch that stick shift,” he said, and she stretched her arm over her head to avoid it, clawing at the plush seat past his leg.  “That cliff is equal opportunity good and bad guys.” 

“Stop talking.” She grabbed at his shirt, begging for a kiss to seal her orgasm, but he resisted.

“I want to watch you, in case this is it,” he said, running his left hand past her lips.  She took one finger in her mouth, rolled it around and let it go as she began to stammer and come.

“For your eyes only.”


End file.
